The Enchanted Writes Book One (4 page)

The second she looked at it, she gave a
violent shudder.

Brick noted the move and nodded in approval.
He walked over to her and handed her the hairpin.

She didn't run away from him, she didn't
even stumble backwards. She looked at the hairpin and shivered.

“Take it, Warrior Woman Henrietta, and grasp
hold of your destiny.”

Her lips wobbled on the word destiny.

He stood there, the hairpin still in his
hand as he held it out for her to take. When it became obvious she
wasn't going to play along, he rolled his eyes. He flicked his head
to the left. “Oh my god, do I smell smoke?”

She twisted towards the kitchen.

That would be when Brick leaned down and
tucked the hairpin into the front pocket of her bathrobe. The move
was too fast; aside from having a magical crossbow, Brick was
lightning quick. So by the time she looked around, the hairpin was
already in her pocket.

She snapped backwards, stumbling away from
him.

She looked down at her pocket.

“Pick it up and then write the words “Witch
Hunter” up in the air with it,” Brick encouraged her, nodding and
smiling.

She stared at him like the crazy man he was,
and continued to back off.

Her back brushed against a door, and she
brought up her hand and opened it, without turning from him for a
second.

The door led to her bedroom. Her bedroom had
a small patio that connected to the side of the house, and a set of
French doors that led out into the garden.

Still, it was her bedroom, and the idea of
leading this Brick fellow into it was terrifying.

She flinched as she entered her room,
especially when she saw Brick following after her.

“You are crazy, this is crazy,” she said,
her voice high and fast. Her throat was tight, her hands were
sweaty, and she was still holding onto the edges of her bathrobe
with a stiff-knuckled grip.

He crossed his arms and sighed, appearing
disappointed in her. “Henrietta Gosling, take up the transformation
wand from your pocket and use it to write the words “Witch Hunter”
in the air.”

He sounded like a teacher, or a principal,
or her own father; his voice had an authoritative, commanding and
yet disapproving edge to it.

She replied by shaking her head, her wet
hair sending tendrils of dripping fringe slapping into her face and
cheeks. She kept backing into her room, and that leather-clad man
kept following her. There was such a keen, intelligent, watchful
edge to his gaze that she couldn't help but stare at his eyes.

“Why does this have to be so hard?” He
brought up a hand and planted his thumb and fingers into his brow.
“None of the legends of Witch Hunters and their warrior monk
assistants ever mentioned problems like this.” He let out a grating
groan, then darted his gaze towards her pocket. “Can’t you feel its
power?”

She wanted to shake her head. She
didn’t.

She could feel something. Feelings she’d
never felt before. Quick, powerful, tight, and racing. They
promised a lot of power, power she’d never before imagined.

Maybe her expression changed, maybe her gaze
drifted down to the hairpin, because he cracked a smile and nodded.
“That's it, pick it up now.”

She shook her head and backed off into her
room until her shoulders banged against her dressing table and she
knocked her hairbrush onto the floor. It tumbled over her
inexpensive and fake Persian rug and came to a rest close to her
dog basket.

Her dog, Barney, was fast asleep in the
basket, as he was now so old that he only arose for food and a
pat.

Having a hairbrush dropped right next to him
made Barney open an eye.

Far from rushing up and barking at the home
invader, he blinked a sleepy eye at Brick, then let out a yawn and
closed his eyes again.

It got Brick's attention, and a calculating
expression twisted into place on the home invader's face.

It sent a quick, sick feeling shooting
through her, and she jerked over to Barney's basket.

She was too late. Brick, with his lightning
fast ninja-like skills, darted across the room and grabbed Barney
up in the blink of an eye.

She yelped. “What are you doing? Put him
down now!”

With a satisfied smile, he shook his head.
“I can see that you are the kind of woman who requires
encouragement to get started.” He scratched Barney under the
chin.

Heart rocketing around, she took several
tight steps towards Brick. “You put him down now, you hear me?”

Brick shrugged. “I can hear you, though I am
not going to put him down. I am going to keep him here until you do
what I have told you, and you rise up to take hold of your
destiny.”

“Give me back my dog!”

“Not until you have transformed into a Witch
Hunter.” Brick kept scratching Barney under the chin, and the dog
could not look happier.

She stood there, surveying her bedroom,
trying to look for a weapon, anything she could use to defend
herself and get her dog back.

Brick watched her eyes and shook his head
again.

He patted Barney on the head several times,
then opened his jacket and managed to tuck the dog into his pocket.
Barney fit. Barney fitted fine. When Brick closed his jacket again,
it was as if nothing was there. There was no massive bulge as the
small corgi pushed up against his jacket. The leather sat straight
against Brick's chest.

She crumpled her hands over her mouth and
gave a scream. “What have you done?”

At the sound of her scream, a muffled bark
filtered out from Brick's jacket.

“Your dog is fine, but if you want to see
him again, for the love of god and all that is sacred, pick up the
hairpin and write the words “Witch Hunter” in the air.” Brick
looked desperate now, and the frustration pulled at his already
lined face.

He was mad, this was mad, but he had stolen
her dog and somehow hidden it in his jacket. So she let her shaking
hand descend to her pocket and she let her fingers close around the
hairpin. The second she did, a jolt of energy passed through her.
It felt as if she’d stood on a live-wire. She managed to keep hold
of the hairpin, and she brought it out to stare at it with wide,
shocked eyes.

Though it was mad, she brought the hairpin
forward and she began to write the words Witch Hunter.

With a shaking, trembling hand she finished
writing. The second she did something occurred.

First a loud keening sound filled the air.
It reminded her of getting too close to a high-voltage power line,
and it began to pluck at the hairs along her arms and the back of
her neck, making them stand on end. Within seconds that noise
dissipated and was replaced with a swooshing sound. Henrietta
looked down to see a circle appear at her feet. It was like the
circle the magical crossbow had shot onto her ceiling; it looked
like an intricate mandala, surrounded by symbols that flamed an
electric blue and green.

The second the circle formed, energy
crackled all around and up over her feet, legs, and the rest of her
body.

At the sight of it, she screamed. As the
energy plucked and played along her skin, she tried to swipe it off
her as if it were insects.

“Calm down, Warrior Woman Henrietta. You
will be fine,” Brick said, a calm edge to his voice as if he were a
parent trying to assure a child after a nightmare.

She didn't stop screaming; blue and green
energy was covering her, swimming and swarming over her skin with
alarming speed.

Within seconds, something else began to
happen. Henrietta started to float. At first it felt like a light
sensation picking up through her feet and legs, then she looked
down to see her bathrobe fluff out as if a strong wind shot up from
underneath her.

Her feet lifted off the ground.

She screamed even harder now.

“Floating is natural.” Brick gave a hearty
laugh.

She screamed louder.

As she floated, the symbols at her feet grew
wider, and the color of the blue and green more vibrant. There was
now so much energy crackling around on the floor and over her that
her entire room was illuminated with a glow.

Brick walked over to her window and pulled
the curtains shut. “I don't think the neighbors need to see this.”
He chuckled.

Her arms became stiffer and pulled straight
at her sides as her legs were yanked down. It was as if she was a
puppet being manipulated by a strong hand.

“Don't worry, the magic is stretching you
out so it can get your measurements. You do want your clothes to
fit.” Brick flicked her a casual smile as he tucked his hands into
his pockets.

She was beyond screaming now; her throat was
so dry and cracked that the only sound she could make was a harsh
low whimper.

Something appeared over her skin. The light
below her changed as well. The blue and green energy snapped to
white. As it did an energy covered her. In a wisp of sudden smoke,
her bathrobe disappeared. Before she could clutch her arms around
her body to cover her nudity, she felt a peculiar sensation;
clothes were forming over her. Not just any clothes. As she looked
down in abject horror, she saw the most fantastic of costumes
appear out of thin air. It was blue and white and gold, and it
looked as if it was made out of a material spun from sunshine.

The pin still in her hand elongated. In a
snap and click it went from being a drab hair ornament to a long
wand with a crystal on top.

The circle at her feet disappeared and the
floating feeling started to dissipate.

She drifted down to her feet and the white
glow illuminating the room twinkled out.

She was immobilized with fear, her mouth
open and her heart beating hard in her ears. All she’d done was
write with a pin, and now she was wearing a fantastic costume and
holding a wand with a crystal on the top.

Brick stood there, looking proud. There was
an easy smile curling his lips, his eyes were sparkling, and after
a short, thoughtful pause, he started clapping. “Well done, well
done.”

Her face scrunched up in shock, and she
dropped her head to survey her clothes. If she’d thought Brick's
costume was ridiculous, then her own was 100 times worse.

She had shoulder pads, actual shoulder pads.
She had thigh-high boots on, too. She was wearing a long, flaring
jacket that pinched in at the waist. Unlike Brick's, it wasn't made
of jet-black leather; it was blue and white and shimmered like
crystals. It was the gaudiest thing she’d ever seen. Underneath she
wore an old-style flared dress, complete with a bodice, but with a
skirt that ended up around her thighs.

It looked like something she’d bought from
an adults-only store.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell am I wearing?”
She tried to tug at her hem to lengthen the skirt, but it was a
thankless task.

Brick looked at her then rubbed his hands
together. “You are wearing a classic witch-hunter costume. Classic,
with certain modern improvements. Ever since it was pointed out to
us warrior monks that it is appallingly hard to run in a long
skirt, we shortened it for the sake of efficiency in battle.”

She shifted her head until she looked at
him, and as she did her jaw dropped open. The warrior monks
shortened her skirt for proficiency in battle.

She didn't have the words to express how she
felt right now.

He clapped his hands together and rubbed
them. “Okay, now you're dressed, it’s time to go out and fight the
witches.”

“I am not going anywhere dressed like this.”
Her voice was as high as a train whistle.

“Why not? Those are the perfect clothes to
fight witches in. I must say, that jacket is a stylish cut,
too.”

She pressed two white sweaty fingers into
her brow and tried to find the words – any words – to explain what
was happening to her.

She had written in the air with a magical
pin, and she’d somehow transformed into this ludicrous outfit in
the middle of her bedroom. What was more, she’d trashed the
place.

As she looked around, she saw her curtains
had come off their rails, somehow the door had fallen off her
wardrobe, and all the trinkets on her dressing table had fallen
onto the floor.

From somewhere within the confines of
Brick's jacket she heard a soft bark. That made her snap her head
around. “You give me back Barney right now.” For some reason she
planted her hands on her hips. It was a powerful and assertive move
for timid Henrietta. It felt good though.

Brick brought up a finger and wagged it at
her. “You will earn your dog back when you defeat the witches.” He
turned and headed for the door.

“You get back here.” She stomped forward,
her heels piercing the carpet and leaving tiny indents. They were
like sky scrapers, but weirdly she had no trouble balancing in
them. Which was fantastic considering how unco she was.

Brick kept backing off, then he brought his
hands up and clapped them again. “It's time to begin. Follow me.”
He turned and disappeared.

He actually disappeared.

Three seconds ago he’d been standing in the
middle of her bedroom floor. A moment later he was standing outside
her French doors.

She stumbled back and gasped.

“Come on,” he called to her from the other
side of the doors, waving her forward. He tapped at his wrist as if
to indicate that they didn't have much time.

At first Henrietta rushed forward, then she
stopped. She looked down, and she remembered what she was wearing.
Was she going to follow this crazy warrior monk across town while
dressed like she was out of a bizarre adult movie?

No. She was not. As soon as she made that
decision, she heard the soft pining bark of Barney filter through
from Brick's jacket.

She clutched her fingers into her palms and
she steadied her jaw. How dare he come into her house, steal her
dog, and run around like a ninja.